Heiress of Flight: A Novella from the Unbroken Series # Wattys2017

Truth

When we hold vigil for our loss, I try not to think about it. Aunt Genevieve screamed at the top of her lungs, and Popplar...well, I never heard a man cry like that in my life. My mother and grandmother remain silent standing beside my aunt near the fire. The birds of the lost fly up to dance in the smoke-laden sparks. I stand on the outskirt watching the scene.

"Father, in Heaven, please bless the souls of the loss..."

It has been a long time since I heard someone pray like that. In the Marshlanders, we do not have a huge grasp on religion, not like the Wolflands and the Fairylands. Everyone is left to their own devices, choosing their own religion. Kimberly's father brought religion to her. Taught us how to pray when we were young. Kimberly carried on the religion in honor of him, and for the fact that she loved it. She would pray and try her best to stay connected with God. But...our mothers nor my father really get into religion. I never got into it, either, after my uncle died.

Now, I am drawn to it. Perhaps some solace. Perhaps something to strip away this guilt. I know I should not feel guilty, but I do. I should have done more. What? I cannot say, but I should have done more.

"Please bless the hearts of those that are grieving, tonight..."

I am not surprised to see Vegas murmuring the prayer not far from our vigil.

"Please bless our further journeys, and guide us forever in Your love."

I do not move until I hear him say, "Amen."

When he gets up with his fingers pressed into his mare's neck to steady himself, I wipe my eyes. I do not know what to say. I feel like I have intruded on a very important, personal conversation.

"That was nice of you...to pray like that, for us."

"It was no problem."

Suddenly, I am bursting into tears. Vegas comes to my side and slowly puts an arm over my heaving shoulders.

"It was not your fault," he whispers.

"Then why do I feel so broken inside?"

"Because that is the way death makes us feel."

I laugh. "I have maimed and killed more people than you can count on one hand, and death has never made me feel this way."

"Yes, but this time, it was someone you love."

More pain shoots through me as I ask the next question, "And this is the kind of pain I caused the people, whose loved ones I took from them?"

Vegas is silent, but he does not have to answer. I know the answer just as well as he does.

"How can you pray for someone like me? Like us?" I look over my shoulder at my people. "Could your God...could any god...truly love us? We are killers...they killed their own people...how could anyone, let alone a god, ever love them?"

He lifts my chin to look at him, straight into the brown depths of his eyes. "My God loves everyone."

For some reason, I hug him tightly, and he holds me, "Trust me, Jenna, it was not your fault. You cannot blame yourself. There are just some messed up people in this world...we all are a little messed up, to be honest. We all need Christ's sacrifice and God's grace is what my father used to always say; I have found no greater truth."